


Orbit

by yellow_crayon



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Poor Life Choices, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: The lawyer’s involvement complicates things for Nacho.(Or where Saul gets distracted by Lalo’s ass in jeans, and Lalo takes advantage.)
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman
Comments: 15
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this weird idea in my head where Jimmy had more involvement with the cartel side. Not sure if I should continue haha. 
> 
> Assume this is around Season 5 Episode 3, and Lalo didn't kill TravelWire Fred.

The lawyer that Ignacio drags in is unremarkable at first glance, with his rumpled suit, receding hairline, and nervous energy. Lalo ducks down under the open hood of the car and leans in to tighten the screw. He can feel the man’s gaze on him.

“Can I talk?”

The meek words bounce and echo in the garage. Lalo wipes his dirty hands on a nearby towel and makes his way over to the sink. He turns on the tap as Saul Goodman’s words spill like water from his mouth, the syllables tripping over one another in his haste.

Still utterly unremarkable.

How on Earth did a man like this talk his crazy asshole of a cousin out of skinning two gringos alive... Or perhaps Tuco had found him amusing, the way you would a monkey in people’s clothes.

Lalo takes a seat next to Ignacio and waits for the lawyer’s lips to stop moving. He’s dealt with men like Saul Goodman before. Ones with smart mouths that run a mile a minute. Barely have to apply pressure and they spill everything. It’s the quiet ones, like Tuco’s little friend, that you have to look out for. Goodman’s mouth snaps shut as Ignacio crosses his arms. Lalo makes a mental note to look into the little incident between them. It’s a bit annoying, trying to figure out all the moving pieces here in Albuquerque, but then he’s always been good at connecting the dots.

He sits back and lets Ignacio take over. Goodman tries to sell them a burner phone, wrings his hands like a distressed old woman, and attempts to weasel out of getting his shoes wet.

The man reminds Lalo strangely of a cat he'd once briefly owned as a child. It had been this thin, mangy thing he’d fished out of the dark crevices behind Cecilio’s toolshed. Gorged itself on the food Lalo had left out despite having witnessed the little boy lay his enticing trap earlier that day. He hadn’t bothered giving it a name. Even when its dull, dirt-crusted coat transformed into silky white, the cat never lost its appetite. It always ate like every meal was its last. Then one day, he came home to the sight of his pet dangling in Tio Hector’s hand, pink foamy blood drying around its nose and mouth. The gardeners had laid out poisoned food for mice the day before.

“Greedy thing,” Hector had sneered when he tossed the corpse at Lalo's feet.

He sees the same hungry gleam in Saul’s eyes. Lalo knows how to deal with greed. He pulls out his money clip and smiles.

“For your trouble, let’s make it eight.”

* * *

It’s a sweltering Thursday when Lalo drives into the parking lot outside the courthouse. Men and women, clad in various boring shades of gray and black, their expressions tightly drawn, bustle in and out. He leaves his gun in the glovebox and goes through security, his bright purple shirt the only splash of color in the drab room.

Goodman’s in the courtroom at the end of the hall on the third floor, the one with mold aggressively growing out of the ceiling fixture. He takes a seat in the last row. Saul’s tie is a nasty shade of mustard yellow today. It gleams under the cheap lighting and clashes horribly with his blue shirt. He’s too caught up in his animated speech on First Amendment rights to notice Lalo’s presence.

Focused and in his element. It's not a bad performance for a spineless bottom-feeder.

He gets the kid’s slew of charges reduced to three months probation, and there’s a moment of smug triumph on the lawyer’s face before he whirls around, spots Lalo, and promptly drops his briefcase.

 _“Meet you outside, Goodman,”_ Lalo mouths at him with a wink.

* * *

“Want some coffee? There’s a dispenser machine over…” He trails off, hands starting to fidget again. “Look, the thing with your guy, it got delayed. I tried to talk to the arresting officers and the two DEA agents, but—”

“There’s something else I need you to do for me,” Lalo interrupts, gesturing for Saul to follow him down the stairs.

“Yeah, Lalo, I’m sorry but I gotta get this paperwork in before 2 o’clock. It’s up on the fourth floor,” He gestures to the stack of papers sticking out of his haphazardly-shut briefcase. “If you have somewhere else to go…”

It’s another flimsy attempt to deflect. He half-expects Goodman to pull a burner phone out of his ass and run his pitch by Lalo again.

“No worries, I got all the time in the world,” Lalo claps the guy on the shoulder and grins cheerfully. Saul doesn’t move.

“What?”

He’s almost curious how Goodman is going to lie his way out of this corner he’s backed himself into.

“You know what, I’ll just leave the papers with Lea downstairs, she’ll get them to Phyllis up on 4th later. Owes me a favor, that one,” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing against the collar of his shirt. Saul laughs nervously and swipes an unsteady hand over the lower half of his face. “Wanna take the elevator? I sort of have crappy knees.”

* * *

Lea is a tiny shriveled raisin of a woman wearing giant horn-rim glasses and too much perfume. She takes one look at Lalo and grunts, “your prostitution case got moved up?”

Saul’s eyes wide in alarm at the words, “No no no, that guy is still scheduled for next Friday. This is just a friend of mine.”

He shoves the papers into the small slit and rushes Lalo out of the courthouse.

“Don’t mind her, she’s senile. Practically a living fossil, ok?” Goodman babbles as he flies down the steps. He dabs at the sweat on his brow with a distracted hand, “you look great in that purple silk shirt and gold chain, Lalo. Seriously. It’s my fault, really.”

“How is it your fault?” Lalo asks with a straight face.

Goodman gulps like a landed fish for a second, his eyes bulging. Then he squeezes out, “because…I’m the guy that represent lots of pimps and prostitutes. Yeah. I have a reputation. For doing that. So people automatically assume, and it’s not because you dress like you’re in that kind of business…it’s me. You were standing next to me, and you’re, you know, very handsome, so—”

Lalo snorts.

“Relax, man. I was just messing with you,” He throws an arm over Goodman’s shoulder, “I can see why Tuco likes you, Saul. You’re hilarious.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Hey, you really think I’m handsome?”

“Uh…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” He laughs, “where’s your car, man?”

“Over there,” Saul points to a small yellow rectangle parked a few spaces down from Lalo’s grey Monte Carlo.

“Seriously?” He squints at it. “Looks like a juice box that’s been stepped on.”

“It’s an _import,_ _”_ Saul protests, sighing as he pulls out his keys. “What did you need?”

“Right,” Lalo snaps his fingers, “Can you get me building plans for a certain warehouse?”

“As in blueprints and land deeds?”

“Yes, but the building doesn’t belong to me, so I need it to be discreet. Can’t have the owner finding out. You think you can do that for me, Saul?”

Confusion sets in, followed by the gears whirling to life in the lawyer’s head. Lalo has to admit, it’s a satisfying sight, not as satisfying as the smooth purr of a modified engine in a quiet desert, but close enough.

Goodman clears his throat and meets Lalo’s expectant gaze, “yeah, I think I can come up with something...”


	2. Chapter 2

The tiny yellow car looks even more pathetic in action. Lalo watches as it rolls up to the entrance of the garage, worn tires crunching over the dirt road. Goodman’s head pokes out a second later, hand shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun as he squints expectantly into the dark bunker.

Lalo whistles and watches the man’s head whip to follow the noise. He’s working outside today despite the heat, and the red Thunderbird is a vivid splash of color against the barren backdrop. Saul’s eyes flicker down his body for a brief second before he ducks back into the car and reemerges with a long white tube and several thick manila envelopes.

“New Mexico weather, huh?” Goodman says as Lalo wipes at the sweat stinging his eyes.

“You’re one to talk in that suit,” He returns, grimacing slightly at the oil and grease soaked into the white wifebeater he’s wearing. “Don’t tell me you’re not sweating under there.”

“Sopping wet armpits, Lalo. This is just so I don’t gross you out,” The lawyer says, putting the documents on the hood of the adjacent car. Lalo wipes his hands clean and smiles, “How thoughtful of you, Mr. Goodman.”

“It was hell to navigate through the beuracratic mess that is the Albuquerque Zoning Committee and licensing board, but, uh, I got the copies of the deeds to the land, the papers, blueprints on file and more,” He explains, gesturing to the items in turn and steepling his fingers. “Will that be all?”

“Give me a quick run through,” Lalo says.

Saul’s eyes widen, “I, uh, didn’t look through the—”

“Come on, smart curious guy like you resist taking a peek?” He purrs, still smiling as he moves closer, “explain it to me. I’m not familiar with all this American regulations and legal jargon, Saul.”

It’s mostly true, but he also wants Goodman’s take on things. A neutral outsider’s view of sorts.

“Ok, sure,” Goodman blinks before reaching for the building plans. Lalo waits while he unfurls the blueprints and smooths it out. “So it looks like a standard warehouse building. I compared to another chain restaurant’s and it’s nearly identical, except for the size. There’s not much to attack in terms of building code violations if they stick to the plans.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If they don’t, the inspector—”

“Can be bribed, correct?”

Saul frowns, “well yes, but why would they submit fake plans for a restaurant warehouse?”

“Let’s just say chicken is not the only thing the owner sell,” Lalo mutters. He flips through the pages, “any information on developers or a construction company in charge of the project?”

“Yup, local Albuquerque business,” Saul pipes up, reaching for one of the other large packets of paper.

“He’s up to something.” He strides back to the Thunderbird and ducks under the hood again. It’s frustrating. Lalo hates this little cat-and-mouse game he has to play with Gustavo Fring up North. Down in Mexico, a man like Fring would already be rotting in the ground for his blatant disrespect to the Salamanca family business.

“Hand me the socket wrench, Saul,” Lalo calls out and lifts an expectant hand.

“The w-what?” The lawyer stutters, glancing down at the kit next to him. “I know nothing about cars, so you’ll have to forgive my ignorance.”

“This one,” Lalo walks over and shows him the piece. He lists off the names of the other tools in the box as well, half curious how many Saul will actually remember. “You’re not interested in cars? I thought you Americans were crazy about your vehicles.”

“As long as it’s functional, I don’t mind—”

“I like cars,” Lalo declares, not caring if he cuts the other man off mid-sentence. “You crack open the hood and they tell you all their secrets. So simple and logical. Not messy like humans, you know.” He glances at Goodman and grins, “can you imagine if we were the same? If I could just crack that head of yours open and understand how you tick, Saul?”

“That’s a little bit too Hannibal Lector for me,” Saul laughs nervously, his gaze darting up to meet Lalo's a fraction too late. It’s the second time that day he’s caught Saul ogling his ass.

“Hmm. Magnetic screwdriver,” Lalo says and is pleased when the man hands him the right tool. He ducks back under the hood again.

“What makes you tick, if you don’t mind me asking,” Saul’s timid voice asks. He’s a little surprised by the lawyer’s sudden boldness, but not in a bad way.

“Mi familia, Mr. Goodman, I was taught at a young age that family must be placed above all else,” He winks at the lawyer and leans over to grab a cold beer from the cooler beneath the car. Lalo hands it to Goodman who hesitates for a second before accepting, the tips of his fingers brushing against Lalo’s knuckles in the process.

“You?” He prompts the man. 

Saul takes a slow drink. His eyes are distant, distracted. Lalo stoops to tighten a loose bolt. He doesn’t mind the stretch of silence.

“I don’t have any family left,” Goodman says out of the blue. He sounds weary, like the topic is an old wound.

“Sorry to hear that,” Lalo says, “What about that pretty señorita I saw you smoking with the other day outside the courthouse, hmm?”

“She’s nothing,” He blurts out too fast, that familiar note of panic seeping back into his voice. Hidden in the darkness beneath the hood of the Thunderbird, Lalo smirks.

“So, it’s just money that you care about then?” He straightens and glances at Goodman.

“Well, I also care for the good community here in Albuquerque,” He manages to say with a straight face. Lalo lifts an eyebrow. Goodman’s mouth spasms but he doesn’t give in.

“A heart of gold then.” Lalo can’t quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Well if I did, I’d probably end up selling it,” Saul admits. It’s a lame attempt at humor, but Lalo laughs anyway. Saul’s cheeks flush at the sound. He pats the man on the shoulder, ignoring his brief grimace at the smear of engine grease Lalo’s hand leaves on his blue suit.

“Don’t worry about selling any organs for quick cash,” He purrs in the lawyer’s ear, “play your cards right, Saul. You’ll be swimming in cartel money in no time.”

“About that,” Goodman says, rubbing at his lower lip and looking shifty all of a sudden, “I know nothing about your operations, Lalo. Not trying to pry or anything, but purely from a economic standpoint, if that guy you’re looking into is a potential competitor, and he’s bribing inspectors to build a massive warehouse in the middle of nowhere…”

“You think he wants to start his own business,” Lalo finishes for him, straightening to look at the other man.

“Well, if you can avoid crossing the border for product, that reduces a lot of risks and limitations,” Saul points out with a shrug. “It’s a silly thought. I have these random brain farts now and then. I’m probably overthinking things...”

“Keep talking, Saul,” Lalo orders.

“Oh, ok. Uh…”

* * *

Jimmy wins the prostitution case on Friday and decides to reward himself with another congratulatory ice cream. It’s sweltering hot outside and the pimp hadn’t exactly been easy on the eye. Ironically he’d shown up to the courthouse in a purple shirt and bling eerily similar to the outfit Lalo had worn the other day. The effect had been miles apart of course.

He knows it’s probably a monumentally bad idea to find Lalo attractive, but he is, in a strangely mesmerizing way. Charming too. Jimmy’s experimented in college, but he’s never really put any thought into men before. He tells himself the sight of Lalo bent over a vintage sports car is just nice little bonus to his dealings with the cartel. Jimmy’s not going to do anything to endanger their budding relationship. The monetary returns definitely beats working his ass off at the courthouse for sure.

A drop of melted ice cream lands on the back of his hand and Jimmy ducks down to take a few hurried bites. A car honks loudly behind him. Rude.

Jimmy tucks his briefcase under one arm and digs in his pant pocket for the leftover napkin from lunch. The car honks again.

“Go around, asshole! I’m on the fucking sidewalk,” He yells and licks his thumb.

“McGill,” The man in the car calls out, and it’s only then that Jimmy looks up from his ice cream to find Nacho Varga glowering at him from inside his flashy red Javelin.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” He sighs.

Nacho’s jaw clenches in annoyance.

“Come on, man. I just bought this,” Jimmy whines. Why won’t the world just let him have his scoop of mint chip in peace?

“What grown man eats ice cream?” Nacho mutters, snapping his fingers, “throw it away and get in. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Seriously?”

“McGill, I swear to God,” Nacho growls.

“You owe me two cones now, Mr. Varga, destroyer of all that is sweet and nice,” He insists as he reluctantly gets into the passenger seat, “what do you want?”

**Author's Note:**

> Zero fics for these two huh...


End file.
